Sans Hypnotism
by Ebony10
Summary: Post Russet Potatoes. Van Pelt thinks about her discomfort with what happened and Rigsby's "brutal" streak. Rigsby/Van Pelt story.


Okay, I _never_ expected to write a Rigsby/Van Pelt fic, but after the last episode (Russet Potatoes, I think it was called) I had this idea and haven't been able to get rid of it. : ) So enjoy! It will probably be the only R/VP fic I do. Hints at something in Van Pelt's past, but does not clarify. Bit of angst and working through issues.

**Sans Hypnotism**

"_...against moral character..."_

"_...a streak of brutality..."_

Van Pelt had always liked soft guys. Guys who were sweet, soft spoken, fun, playful, light...nonthreatening.

Yes, that seemed to be the common link. None of them, not one, was in any way threatening (at least on the outside). She supposed she liked knowing that she could use her skills at any moment and overpower them physically with the techniques taught through work. There had been a time when she had liked the strong guys—the linebacker type.

But that had been a long time ago and she found it easier not to think of it.

Clearly, she could work with the big, burly types—in her profession, it was a little hard to avoid them. They seemed to gravitate to law enforcement. Probably the rush of tackling suspects that was suspiciously similar to a satisfying play on the football field. She smirked. Her father would definitely agree. He always liked a good tackle. Hmm...to be honest, her father would probably give Lisbon's tackles a 9.5, which was a great score in his eyes. Van Pelt had never been a chase and tackle kind of girl. Probably why she was usually on desk duty.

Computers were her talent. Interrogations were her passion. She had never felt so alive as when she got to do her first interrogation. Well, maybe until the moment Rigsby had kissed her.

Rigsby.

If ever there were an epitome of strong, burly, linebacker sort of guy it would be Rigsby. She didn't mind working with him. As she said, she had worked with his type before. But she had always been uncomfortable with Jane's comments on Rigsby's interest, his _personal_ interest, in her. She just didn't go for guys like him. Ones that could easily overpower if the desire arose.

The more she worked with him, though, the more she had let her guard down. His personality was caring. In fact, she had started to think of him as a big teddy bear. Gradually, she was becoming more and more attracted to him. More open to personal feelings. When she realized she couldn't pinpoint just when she had started daydreaming about him, she decided it was time to get a guy. She was way too close to responding to Rigsby's earnest desire. So she had started dating the cute lawyer she sometimes saw at her local deli.

Man, that had been a disaster. So much for going for a 'type.'

Apparently, even the soft, playful guys weren't all they appeared either.

And her overpowering worry for Rigsby had shown her that, despite her defense mechanisms (Jane's words had hit painfully close to home—even blind, he packed an emotional punch), the tall agent had crept under her guard. She cared for him more than was probably appropriate. After all, she had never felt the urge to kiss Cho in the men's restroom.

Um, actually, she was pretty sure she had _never_ felt that urge. Period. Until that night when she had found Rigsby bleeding, leaning against the tiled wall. Amazing what concern (that's all it was, really) could do to a person's senses.

She had felt a bit guilty after that. She knew that Rigsby loved her. Or at least that he thought he did. She didn't want to take advantage of the man and his naively given affections. So she had ignored that moment in the bathroom, the same as she had ignored his drugged up confession to her. And if she sometimes wondered what he would look like shirtless, who was the wiser? Damn hormones.

And if she ever pondered how he would be with young children? Just a coincidence. Curiosity and such.

And if she had been a little irritated by the plastic Barbie from the country club who had looked at Rigsby as if he were Ken? Simply because she thought Rigsby deserved better—a friend's opinion, of course.

It couldn't be that her 'care' was creeping over the line to something even more powerful. No way was her attraction getting ready to dive into the deep end of lust. Not possible.

But after seeing what Rigsby had done to Dr. Daniels, she knew that she had been lying to herself. Lisbon had pointed out that hypnotism could not force a subject to do something against his moral character and Jane's responding words about a brutal streak in Rigsby had stirred memories inside of her. For once, she felt nervous in regard to Rigsby, almost fearful for a split second.

It was stupid, really. Rigsby had never shown the kind of hostility that could make someone snap like he had. He had never shown any indication of violence toward her. She shouldn't feel an ounce of fear toward him.

But as she stood on the skirts of the group, she remembered how easily she had been fooled before. Twice. First...well, you know what they say. _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..._

And the second time had almost gotten Jane and Rigsby killed. So, standing there, hearing Jane's words had only reminded her that people weren't always what they appeared. And she felt her first niggling of doubt. If Rigsby could do that to a suspect, even if he _was_ hypnotized, then who knows when he would lose control again.

She had recovered quickly, especially when Jane instructed her to stop Rigsby from leaving. She had been rather surprised that it worked, but then she wondered just how deep Rigsby's feelings for her were. Firmly, she pushed the doubt away. This was _Rigsby_. Teddy bear, stomach as a bottomless pit, Rigsby. He wouldn't hurt her.

It had nearly broken her to see him break down. She had wanted to stop Jane, but she could hear the logic in his explanation, even if Rigsby couldn't. She thought her heart would stop when he ran into traffic. And the fear she felt at knowing that he was gone, unsupervised, didn't lessen simply because Jane had planted a tracking device.

Deep down, through this all, she had wondered about Jane's words, about Rigsby's moral character. She may not be able to control her feelings and who she felt them for, but she could damn well control her actions. She would not let the past repeat itself. She would never let another man hurt her like that.

In the end, though, it was not Patrick Jane who offered her insight. Her epiphany came from no one but herself.

The pressure inside of her released and she almost laughed aloud because it felt so good. She did not have to worry about Rigsby's moral character. She was silly to have doubted it, doubted him. She could understand why she had, though. Before anything, she was a cop. And cops dealt in evidence. Even if it was circumstantial. So her conclusions and theories had not been unfounded. Now, even the evidence pointed to the logical conclusion, the right conclusion. If only she had thought of this earlier, maybe they could have caught that psychopath. Even if Jane couldn't guess it, she should have known.

Rigsby had a soft spot for women. He liked to protect them. He hated when anyone hurt them. And, while he wasn't prone to violence, Van Pelt was certain that he wouldn't shy away from using it if he thought that a woman had been terribly hurt.

And that explained it.

During her time alone with him, the crazy sister had planted stories and ideas of how awful Dr. Daniels was, how much he had hurt her. She had played on his protective, knight-in-shining-armor side. And to protect her, a woman, Rigsby had done what any chivalrous tough guy generally did in that situation—used his fist to enact revenge. His usually rigid control had been weakened by the hypnotism, but even Rigsby would not stoop to random acts of violence.

In his mind, he was protecting a helpless, weak woman. Who also happened to be a sociopath, but in his defense no one else had realized it.

Van Pelt didn't have to worry about Rigsby's moral character. She felt herself taking one more step toward that mental precipice. Now that she thought about it, she felt rather ashamed. She shouldn't have doubted him. Maybe as a cop, but not as a friend. Not as a woman. Her eyes widened.

Not as a woman.

She didn't have to doubt Rigsby. Ever. Not even as a woman. A soft smile started to blossom on her face, growing into a grin. He may look like a linebacker, but he was softer and sweeter than any guy she had ever met. And she trusted him, she realized.

More than that. She was pretty sure she loved him back. She closed her eyes, positive that a sappy grin was displayed on her face, and thought about that kiss.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to have to think about it.

She wanted to relive it.

And with that thought, she let go of her inhibitions, her doubts, and dove over the side of the dark precipice. It was a long way to fall. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to scale the height and get back on top of her defense. But, know what?

She didn't care as long as Rigsby was going to be at the bottom, waiting to catch her and hold her.

And hopefully kiss her some more. Sans hypnotism.


End file.
